


Street Art

by Detox_just_to_retox



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - College/University, Art, Artist Louis, Beta Wanted, Fluff, Louis Tomlinson in Love, M/M, Not Beta Read, Rating: PG13, Romance, University, University Student Louis
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-29
Updated: 2018-12-29
Packaged: 2019-09-29 13:24:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,753
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17204186
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Detox_just_to_retox/pseuds/Detox_just_to_retox
Summary: Louis is a street artist. For two years now he has been painting the walls with images of a guy from a parallel course, and this is his only way to show his sympathy.Harry is the most popular guy of the university, but for two years now he has been tormented by the thought of who draws him on every wall he faces.





	Street Art

**Author's Note:**

> Actually, I am a Russian ficwriter, and I don't speak English perfectly. So... I try to translate my works and would like to translate and post some of them here, but I really need a person who is a native speaker and can help me correct mistakes (and maybe who knows Russian a little or would like to learn it).  
> All my work you can see here => https://ficbook.net/authors/1037169

 

Louis loved painting. He liked Mexican monumental-ism, surrealism, pop art, expressionism (of course). But most of all he liked Harry. Harry was a special kind of art, a bit unreal, like the pictures of Dali and Magritte, a bit chaotic and inconstant, like the work of Dadaists, and infinitely vivid, as if written by Henri Matisse.

Harry was really ... just Harry. A guy from a parallel course who once joined a company of volunteers in the art class Louis as a model. Curly hair, perfectly even features, slow deep voice. Louis didn’t know what made this guy so attractive, but from that first meeting he didn’t want to draw any more portraits, except for Harry.

Once Louis heard Styles drop the phrase “I like street art, there is something in it. I saw a guy painting a picture on the wall, and it was just awesome. ” That night, Louis painted the first portrait of Harry on the wall.

He often sketched at home, experimenting and trying on different images on Harry. In his fantasy, this guy could become anyone - a rock star, a schoolboy, a sailor. Anyone. But, of course, not one who would pay attention to Louis.

Tomlinson did not even try to talk to him, their only conversation was two years ago in the same studio where Harry asked him, “Am I standing correctly?”. And Louis answered, “yes, great.”

Harry was too beautiful, too noisy, too clever and funny. He was able to make a man fall in love in a couple of minutes. Louis was the exact opposite. Awkward, uncommunicative, with hair lying randomly, the guy pulling on the first sweatshirt in the wardrobe before leaving the house.

For a long time, Louis traced Harry’s path from university to home, and yes, this is a little scary, but he wasn't going to chase him every day or catch him in the alley. His goal was the walls.

More recently, they were ordinary and unremarkable, with cracked plaster or crumbling bricks. Now they were all canvases by Louis, the paintings on which he painted only for the sole viewer.

Many were already painted, and every time Louis passes by, he sees Harry. Harry's face, his smile, his smooth lips of a pale cherry color, his radiant green eyes, with the perfect cut.

Drawing Harry is something different. Not what Louis draws in his classes. There is no such direction in painting, which would describe the image of Harry. This is probably his own invention, like Malevich’s suprematism. Only instead of a black square, a black circle and a black cross, he has Harry.

Louis pulls out another can of red paint and shakes it. It's almost over, but he has a couple more.

Somewhere behind the cars pass occasionally or even less often people pass. But he is alone. Always alone. An important rule if you break the law. Although can be considered a criminal for the fact that just draw a handsome guy on the wall?

Louis looks at his sketchbook, lying against the wall, to check the images. Harry in a red colour, spreading at the edges in blots, his palms are joined in front of his chest, and his head is face down. He made this sketch a couple of weeks ago, when he once again froze his eyes on Harry sitting in the dining room.

Louis looks at his sketchbook, lying against the wall, to check the images. Harry in a red colour, spreading at the edges in blots, his palms are joined in front of his chest, and his head is face down. He made this sketch a couple of weeks ago, when he once again froze his eyes on Harry sitting in the dining room.

Louis applies the final touches with a brush and waits until the paint a little dries. He makes a couple of photo for himself, just as a keepsake, to add them to the collection of Harry's images.

Something is knocking loudly behind him, and he turns around in a fright, hearing the rhythm of blood in his temples beating out, because ... can it be the police? For two years he has never been caught for his little crime.

But it would be better if it be the police, because as soon as he turns around, he sees the familiar silhouette in the darkness of the night. He would never be able to confuse this lanky figure, long legs and ... curly hair, of course.

Louis slowly and rather automatically, than deliberately, reaches for the hood of his sweatshirt, stretched over his head to at least hide his face, and turns a little sideways. Although it is stupid — here is too dark for Harry to recognize him.

“It's illegal, you know?” Harry grins awkwardly, and when he comes closer, Louis can look at the slightly darkened features of his face and the stretched smile on his lips. “It's beautiful ... i mean ...”

Louis stands, gasping in his own fear, unable to say a word. Harry will come closer now and recognize him, he will see who so desperately has been in love with him for two years. And he is not at all afraid of being revealed. Although, maybe a little bit.

Although he may be madly afraid.

Louis would never be the one whom Harry would invite for a date, wouldn’t become the one with whom he would go to night movies. He would never kiss Louis, because ... this is not a snotty romantic comedy. People like Harry don't pay attention to such as Louis.

A brush falls out of his hands, and he too sharply grabs his backpack with the remaining cans and runs away, as fast as he can, to the sounds of loud knocks, which, it turns out, made his heart.

 

***

Louis is late. Catastrophically late for the first lecture.

And this is not surprising, considering that he spent the first half of the night painting the wall, and the second half trying to reassure himself because of Harry's sudden visit.

Harry.

Harry saw him at night. Can he guess that it was Louis? Louis looks weird, aloof, constantly wears sweatshirts and skinny jeans, and such an expression of face that the whole world is global shit. What if he recognizes him by his clothes? Or a figure?

He runs past a small park opposite the university, glancing at the five-story building, to the right of the building, which painted the wall just yesterday. Harry, imprinted in her like a huge red blot, now decorates this nondescript building, as he once became a decoration of Louis's heart and all his drawings.

A small tassel falls out of a pile of textbooks and sheets, which he presses against his chest and he leans over it, but stumbles on the step, and now everything falls out of his hands. Why is he so abstracted?

He is trying to scrape everything into one pile and shove a backpack filled with colors and other rubbish into it anyway, when suddenly someone touches his textbook at the same moment as he and he doesn’t even need to lift his head to find out these are hands.

“Hello,” says a hoarse voice twenty centimeters from his face. Louis takes the textbook from his hands, but here Harry is drawn to the sheets scattered on the steps and, damn ... on one of them a sketch of his image.

“Oops,” Louis breathes, lifting his head and meeting his eyes the color of freshly cut grass, which reflects the morning sun.

“You're Louis, right? From the art class, ”Harry asks carefully, looking thoughtfully at Louis, then at the drawing on the sheet.

“Yes. Yes. Louis It's me. I mean, yes. This is my name” he says, trying to stop the trembling in his hands when he tries to take the sheet out of Harry’s hands, and their fingers meet for a second.

He tries not to look at the guy whose hands so neatly continue to collect fallen things from the ground. He tries to convince himself that this is not something special. But to be frank, it is. Harry pays attention to him. Harry speaks to him. Harry touches his stuff. Louis should take pills for snotiness and amorousness, because this is too much. 

“I hope you weren't caught at night?”  holding back a smile, says Harry, and when Louis looks at him, it becomes clear that to pretend is already meaningless.

"I have never been caught"

"Well, I caught you yesterday. Am I now an accomplice in crime?"

“Definitely,” Louis nods slowly. "It's because you're in those pictures."

"But you set me up! And you didn’t ask me, so you have to compensate it, ”Harry laughs, and Louis tries not to give a silly laugh like a schoolgirl in love.

"What can I do for you?" He asks softly.

Harry reaches for his backpack, pulling out his sketch book, left by Tomlinson in a hurry, and stretches it into Louis’s arms. “You left it yesterday, and I uh ... decided to try my hand at art.”

Louis turns the pages, not paying attention to the already used ones, where Harry's images are flashing everywhere, and stops at the last one, where on a white sheet is his sketch of Harry from red watercolor. Below he notices two little men, drawn in pencil and scribbled next to a phone number.

“Take me to the exhibition of your arvan ... agravan ..." Harry smiles.

"Avant-garde?"

 "Exactly!"

“You have no idea what this is, right?” - Louis squints.

"Don't underestimate me, Louis, I am a connoisseur of art."

And Louis just rolls his eyes, trying to quietly pinch himself by the skin, because it all seems like a strange acid-narcotic dream, from which he does not want to get rid of.

And maybe later Harry will convince him that this is not a dream when he will snort while listening to Louis’s stories about contemporary art. And maybe Louis will finally believe in this when Harry gently presses him to the hood of his car on their third date and kisses so that Louis will never feel so alive as at that moment. And maybe once Louis again draws him from nature, completely naked, and will grumble at him in a serious voice, "do not move, Harold, you spoil the whole composition." Or one day, Louis will draw their first kiss on the wall, in front of their apartment, with the words "will you marry me?". And quite possibly Harry will say yes.


End file.
